Annual
by Midnight Caller
Summary: Not my personal theory for a Grissom/Sara backstory, but I was intrigued by the possibility.


"Annual"  
By Midnight Caller  
  
Disclaimer: Confucius say, "Suing poor man like squeezing blood from stone."  
  
Summary: Devanie and Amber gave me the story idea, which is loosely based on the movie "Same time, next year." Loosely. It's not my personal theory of a Grissom/Sara back-story, but I was intrigued by the possibility.   
  
Thanks to Dev for the virtual support and encouragement.   
  
Rating: R/ NC-17, for un-graphic sex and one curse word.   
  
Archive: Just tell me where.   
  
**  
  
  
He checked the clock again. 8:57 PM. He glanced around the room at the hotel's choice of paint, a deep red crimson that accentuated the print on the bedspread. Grissom stood and walked around the edge of the bed to the mirror above the dresser. He ran a hand through his curls, and took a deep breath, slowly releasing it through his teeth. Even waiting three minutes for her seemed like an eternity.   
  
But she would be here. Soon.   
  
At 8:59 there was a knock at the door, and Grissom jumped, his eyes widening. She was always early. He bit his lip. It was her. It had to be.   
  
He didn't even look through the peephole. He'd waited too long not to see her face to face. The knob felt slippery in his sweaty palm as he turned it, and the door slowly creaked open.  
  
Sara.  
  
She was beautiful, of course. A year later and even more radiant. She was wearing the short leather jacket he liked, a red shirt collar peeking out from beneath the lapel. Her jeans were worn, comfortable, with a small hole in one knee. She readjusted the bag on her shoulder and smiled. "Hi."  
  
He drank her in with his eyes again. "Hi."  
  
Finally, she stepped forward, grinning. "Are you going to let me in?"  
  
He smiled, and stepped back, inhaling deeply as she brushed past him. God, she smelled good. Clean. Intensely feminine. After three years he never got tired of anything about her. Her scent, her hair, the way he was able to surprise her, and that infectious laugh.   
  
She dropped her bag on the chair and turned toward him. After a moment she cocked her head, mimicking him. "It's rude to stare, Grissom." That only widened his smile. She raised an eyebrow and jerked her head seductively. "C'mere."   
  
He obeyed, and crossed the room, standing inches from her. They stood, facing each other, just remembering, observing, absorbing.   
  
Her eyes had memorized the exact depth of the dimple in his chin, and could tell he had shaved recently. His hair was starting to gray on the temples, but only slightly. She wanted to run her fingers through it and never let go.   
  
Her hair was longer, and looked silky in the orange light of the hotel room. He suddenly wanted her hair on his face, falling around his eyes and cheeks, tickling his skin like a teasing feather. The last thing he remembered about her was waking up next to that hair. It was too inviting now; he couldn't resist.  
  
Sara shut her eyes at the sensation, and her breath shortened as Grissom gently ran one hand from below her ear, through her hair, to the crown of her skull. It nearly paralyzed her with an intense tingling that seemed to vibrate from the very touch of his hand. Her mouth fell open, and she breathed his name. He continued the tour of her hair until she could stand it no longer, and she grabbed his head, fiercely pulling his lips to hers.  
  
And in one kiss it all flooded back: secrets only a lover can know; memories of giving and receiving; whispered confessions; silent promises; unadulterated pleasure. Their lips explored the mere surface of what they had experienced, and what they wanted beyond that. Within their kiss, hidden in the rhythmic exchange of energy and desire, came a profound understanding no words could ever convey.  
  
Slowly, as they entwined their limbs and mouths, their clothing dropped to the floor. He lifted her by the waist and carried her to the bed, where he covered her body with his own. They quickly fell into the familiar concert of moans, grunts and gasps, mingled with perspiration, hair, and the flicker of tongues. Twice before it had been like this, and yet their lovemaking was never routine. As their hands and mouths gave and received, and their bodies released, he knew this went far beyond the physical bonding of pure hedonistic intercourse. Every part of them seemed to fuse into one, and every time they touched it was an eternal quest to see how much closer they could become.   
  
There was always something else he wished he knew about her, and they continually surprised each other. Whispered words that made his loins ache for her touch. A newly discovered caress that made her scream his name. A deeper kiss. A more intense climax. There was always something else, which is why they returned every year.  
  
And now, as they approached their final release, her nails dug into his back, and he bit her shoulder. He collapsed onto his elbows as their lips joined for a lingering kiss.   
  
When he rolled onto his back she turned, pressing her front against the length of his side, draping one leg in between his. Her hair fell around his neck, a few strands sticking to the sweat on his cheeks. He didn't even brush it aside; he loved the sensation of any part of her touching him.  
  
After her breathing steadied, she ran a finger lightly across his chest. "That was definitely worth skipping Applied Thermodynamics for..."   
  
He chuckled, and then turned his head to look at her. She raised herself up on one elbow, leaning over him onto his chest. One of his hands reached around to caress her back. "Although I wonder if I could submit this as a lab experiment," she grinned.   
  
He smiled. "You'd need photographic evidence of your findings."  
  
"I don't know if that would go over well," she smirked. "Especially since Dr. Matthews knows you."   
  
Suddenly his grin faded, and he turned his head away from her. She felt his hand fall away from her back.   
  
She touched his chest again. "What?"   
  
His only response was a long, shaky exhale.   
  
She narrowed her eyes. "Grissom, *what*?"   
  
He regarded the paint pattern on the ceiling. "Do you ever think that ..." He stopped, and exhaled again.  
  
Sara moved almost directly on top of him now, trying to get him to look at her. "Think that what?" He just blinked and stared at the ceiling. She shook him lightly. "Think that what?"   
  
"Why are you here?" He blurted it out, perhaps too quickly.   
  
The hurt was evident on her face, and she rolled over and turned onto her other side, facing away from him. He bit his lip, cursing to himself. When he touched her shoulder she shrugged, and he pulled away.   
  
"Sara, I didn't mean that ..."  
  
She waited a moment before replying. "Then why'd you say it?"  
  
This time his sigh was only partly from exasperation. Most of it was regret. Sara turned over to face him, her lips straight, eyes narrow and focused. "Why are you here?" There was a pure honesty to her voice.   
  
It was a simple question. He had to push aside the complicated answers his brain wanted to give in order to listen to his heart. Then the answer was simple. "You."   
  
She looked unimpressed, perhaps even a little irritated. "Me."  
  
He nodded, as if the answer was obviously the right one.   
  
"Please don't bullshit me, Grissom. If you have a problem with being here - with *us* being here -- have the guts to tell me straight-out."  
  
He leaned back onto his elbows and inhaled deeply, staring at the ceiling again. Her glare could have burned holes in his skull.   
  
"Sara, wouldn't you rather be with someone who was ... a little more ... current?" He winced at his own words, and the ceiling finally told him to look at her instead. The stare of death was gone from her eyes.   
  
"More 'current'?" She replied, a little nonplussed. "What, you mean, like, *younger*?"  
  
The frankness of her words sliced through his thin façade of denial, and he gulped. "Yeah."  
  
"No."  
  
He looked confused.   
  
"No," she repeated. When he still didn't seem to get it she continued, "Grissom, for the past two years I've come here to be with you. Why would I do that if I didn't want to?"   
  
"I don't know."  
  
"You don't know." She repeated, not even sure whether or not to be hurt by his comment.   
  
When he shrugged Sara turned her back to him and rolled onto her side. "Then maybe this isn't what you want," she sighed.   
  
She should just get up and leave, and never look back. But something made her stay, as mad as she was. It was the tiniest shred of hope that clung to the very tip of the back of her mind. It was her refusal to end an argument without really winning it. It was the warmth lying next to her, and the pleasure and comfort he gave. It was because she loved him, and wanted him to know. She squeezed her eyes shut and pressed her face into the pillow, stifling the tears that begged to be released.   
  
"Sara, look at me, please. Don't do that." He pleaded, gently, the words quietly floating over to her ears like a child tugging at its mother's clothing. She didn't want to let him in, but she couldn't shut him out. She clutched the pillow and seized control of the tears.  
  
After a long silence, he laid onto his back and shut his eyes, trying to hear her breathing. She wasn't asleep.  
  
"I remember the first time I met you." His words echoed in the quiet room. Her grip on the pillow loosened, just slightly. "In that sea of eager faces, I saw something special in yours. I never planned on anything happening, but that doesn't mean I didn't want it to."   
  
He paused, remembering, and then grinned. "You got me with that smile of yours, you know." She still hadn't moved, and his grin faded. "I never expected anything from you, Sara."  
  
He waited again, but just heard her breathing. He swallowed away the lump in his throat. "I've always dreaded the day you didn't show up. The day you realized you wanted ... something else."  
  
Grissom's eyes were hypnotized by the ceiling at this point, visualizing his past in the unevenness of the paint. He absently rubbed his toes against the cool sheet at the edge of the bed. Maybe he should take a shower. Maybe he should leave. Why hadn't she left? She was the one who was angry, right?   
  
Every time he stared deeper into the cracks of paint he saw her in that classroom, the way her hair spun around when her head turned. How she'd been so forward in coming to talk to him, standing so close, touching him, smiling. Calling him "Dr. Grissom." The coffee shop. His car. Her apartment. The hotel.   
  
Her apartment had bulky flecks of paint on the ceiling. He had parked outside her building, and he stood in her living room. Fish tank. Litter box. Beige curtains. Fruit-shaped refrigerator magnets. A hallway with three doors. There were white curtains in her bedroom, and blue sheets. Her lips were moist and supple. She tasted like coffee. It was three o'clock in the afternoon. There were hands on his belt. Hands in his hair. Tongues. Lips. A key clicked in the door. An old hinge squeaked. Someone was calling her name. The hands left his body. There was another girl. They shook hands, exchanged smiles. The hotel had crimson curtains. He asked. She accepted. The ceiling had flecks of paint.  
  
"I never thought about something else."  
  
Her voice was muffled at first, and the fissures of paint got smaller as Grissom brought himself back. He looked over at Sara, who had rolled over toward him again. "I don't want something else."  
  
His voice cracked. "But how do you know?"  
  
"I see you once a year." She paused, waiting to see if she really needed to continue. She fondled the sheet with her fingertips. "There have been ... others."  
  
Grissom pursed his lips. The truth was what he had wanted. Wasn't it? His teeth ground together until pain shot up through his gums, and he finally loosened his jaw.   
  
She leaned on her elbow. "Haven't you been with anyone?"   
  
The look in his eyes was indescribable. It wasn't hurt. Something else.   
  
He thought she would have known the answer already. Known that she was the only one he could imagine being with. Finally, he caught her gaze, and spoke. "I never thought about something else."   
  
She bit her lip as the tears once again threatened to break free. And then their eyes apologized for everything, and she pressed against him, laying her head on his chest. He idly fingered her hair, not quite sure what to say, or if anything needed to be said.   
  
"You don't believe me," she sighed into his chest, sensing some distance in his touch. It wasn't a question.   
  
He didn't say anything for a few moments, as he mulled over some thoughts and pushed away others. "I believe you," he finally whispered, stroking her hair. And then his voice was almost inaudible. "I believe you."  
  
**  
  
The red curtains glowed in the early morning backlight, and Grissom blinked, remembering where he was. He moved to stretch and felt silk sliding across his chest. He loved her hair. And this was his favorite part of their trysts. The part where he woke up and she was still here.   
  
Sara moaned slightly as she woke, and stretched against him, entwining her legs in his. Propping her chin on his chest she gazed up at him and took a deep breath. "I love waking up next to you," she sighed. Her breath was warm on his skin, and he ran a hand through her locks. She put her ear to his chest. "Even if it is only once a year ..."  
  
"I know," he said, stifling a yawn, feeling the smoothness of the back of her neck. "I know ..."  
  
"What time is it?"  
  
He glanced over at the table. "Almost 8:30."   
  
She moaned again, and started to get up. "Shower." He nodded as she left the bed, watching as she padded over to the bathroom door. He smiled sleepily, and turned his face into the pillow, closing his eyes.   
  
When he woke up again Sara was sitting up against the headboard, damp hair falling around her face as she read something in her lap. The clean scent of shampoo and soap floated over to his nose, and he inhaled deeply.   
  
She glanced down at him and mussed his hair. "Good morning, sleepy." He grinned and wrapped an arm around her waist, trying to get her down on her side. "Hey, I'm trying to read here," she giggled, pulling away.   
  
He blinked and finally sat up halfway, leaning his head onto her shoulder. He narrowed his eyes at her book. "Acoustics, vibration, and damped harmonic oscillation?"   
  
She sighed. "Physics of Sound. It's an elective."   
  
"Sounds fascinating."   
  
"It is..." she stared back at him. A smile finally overcame her pretend anger as his finger slowly trailed up her stomach. "...Doctor Grissom..."  
  
He scooted up to her level, and briefly looked at her book. He smirked before picking it off her lap and tossing it toward the foot of the bed.   
  
"Hey!" She reached after it, but he stopped her protest with a surprise kiss. The contact was intense as sucked her bottom lip into his mouth and wrapped a  
hand around the back of her neck.   
  
As she shifted onto her side toward him he ran a hand down her hips and over the boxer shorts she was wearing, and then squeezed the back of her thigh. In response she wrapped it around him, rubbing her legs against his.   
  
He moved his hand up to her lower back, and roughly pulled her against him, finally settling on top of her. Their lips parted and he met her eyes, brushing a strand of hair from her forehead. The muscles in his cheek flexed in preparation for speech.   
  
Sara suddenly broke the silence before he could. "I love you."  
  
He blinked as his jaw fell open. "What?" he asked quietly.   
  
She gently cupped his face in her hands, pulling him down to within an inch of her. Her voice was almost a whisper. "I said, I--"  
  
"I love you, too," he quickly blurted out, before he lost the nerve.  
  
Her mind went blank and her eyes darted across every inch of his face. She searched, but there was no smile, no smirk, no teasing, just open, bright, attentive blue eyes, staring right back.   
  
She anxiously bit her lip, trying to hold back a smile she wasn't sure was appropriate, given his seriousness. She just wanted to smile at his words. After another moment, she thought she saw the flicker of a grin flash across his lips.   
  
Finally, they couldn't help it, and they both exploded into laughter. He fell onto her chest and she rolled on top of him, giggling into the crook of his neck.   
  
Her hair fell around his cheeks as she brought her head up to look at him. She tried to stop grinning. "Grissom..." Her tone opened his eyes to hers. "I really do. Love you."  
  
The smile he gave her was not formed from awkwardness, or discomfort. It was from peacefulness, satisfaction. Maybe even relief. "Thank you," he whispered, breathing his words into her mouth as she leaned her lips forward to his.   
  
It was as if all their passion and fervor had suddenly merged with a level of tenderness that had previously been unattainable. Their kiss was penetrative but gentle, earthly but ethereal, and almost so intense it defied comprehension.   
  
The heat that normally spread slowly throughout her limbs to signal forthcoming union was now a flame so strong she felt feverish. His hands seemed to be everywhere at once, and yet she was very aware of their touch. Stimulating squeezes followed by feather-like teases trailed all over her back, arms and thighs. Then he was in her hair, her scalp on sensory overload. She moaned into his mouth and bit his lip.   
  
She was draped over his body like a warm, firm blanket that he only wanted to wrap tighter around him. He ran his fingers around the waistband of her boxers, and then finally thrust his hands under the material, feeling her gasp into his mouth as he massaged her skin. A slight chill raised goose bumps on her flesh, and she felt the boxers slide down her legs, where she kicked them away.   
  
They effortlessly joined together again with excruciating pleasure and a collective moan that filled the room. She wrapped a hand in his hair and teasingly nibbled his earlobe. There was always something else. But no one else. Ever.   
  
Her back was smooth, becoming increasingly damp as they continued the frenzied, obsessive synthesis of two bodies into one. Hair in his face, teeth on his ear, fingers in his curls, warm, silken flesh against his own. There was always something else he longed to discover about her. Only her.  
  
Sara's muscles were bursting with imminent release, and she moaned loudly, freeing Grissom's ear from her mouth. His hands gripped her back and hips, pulling her closer and closer until she tensed around him and opened her throat to a guttural growl that originated from somewhere deep within.   
  
She gave, and received, and he enveloped her with his arms as she pressed against his chest, just trying to catch her breath. Her eyes slipped shut as she listened to the beating beneath his skin.   
  
After a few minutes, her eyes opened again. "Grissom ..."   
  
He stirred beneath her. "Yes."  
  
"I think I need another shower ..."   
  
He laughed, and then lifted her chin to meet her eyes. The air was suddenly very still.  
  
His smile faded slightly, and then he mouthed the words, those three silent syllables that made her heart want to burst. It wasn't possible to feel this way. Not with anyone else. She suddenly found it difficult to swallow, and shut her eyes, squeezing her arms around him as tightly as she could.  
  
**  
  
She stood in the doorway, the bag once again slung over her shoulder. The early afternoon sun outlined her hair, the strands glowing as they were swept back and forth by the breeze.   
  
One hand was in entwined with his, slowly massaging the soft webbing between his fingers. He traced a line down her cheek with a finger, and leaned forward for a brief but impassioned kiss.   
  
Their lips parted reluctantly, and he suddenly couldn't look at her. She opened her mouth to say something, but then opted to remain silent. Licking her bottom lip, she gave his hand one last squeeze and then slid away.   
  
Eventually she turned her back to him, and he watched as her form get smaller and smaller until she was an indiscernible silhouette in the glare of the parking lot. Then he picked up his own bag, shut the door, and walked away.   
  
  
  
(fin.) 


End file.
